The Case of the Cotton Eyed Joe
by Printed Paper
Summary: In what may be the greatest case of their careers, Sherlock and John will set out to answer the question that has been asked a countless number of times through out history, but never answered- "Where did you come from? Where did you go? Where did you come from Cotton Eyed Joe?" Crack!Fic- with Johnlock, ironic hashtags, long-winded metaphors, and a shit load of nonsense.
1. Chapter 1

The Case of the Cotton Eyed Joe 

_Author's Notes: I've had this idea for a while. And its slowly been coming along, as I've been thinking about and writing down little bits of different scenes and dialogue. My summer project is to write more and this will defiantly be a fun way to start. This is a total crack fic. Be prepared for Johnlock, ironic hashtags, and long metaphors. I'm not sure exactly where this is going and it may not make that much sense. I don't know how long it will be, I'll just keep going until I run out of ideas. I'm hoping to add a new chapter every week._

 _Please enjoy and leave a comment letting me know what you think or maybe with some suggestions for stuff you'd like to see happen. Follow and share. All credit goes to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (#donthateme) and BBC Steve Moffat (#pleasestop) and Mark Gatiss (#thebest). Thank you for reading!_

Chapter 1

It was well into the evening's festivities when a night out turned into perhaps the greatest case the famous detective Sherlock Holmes would ever encounter. A mystery so taxing and mystifying that it would test the limits of Sherlock and his partner, John Watson.

Scotland Yard's officers were celebrating closing a case after months. Greg Lestrade's position was on the line, since Sherlock had helped him solve every case for the past four months. When Lestrade was assigned to track down a rapid alpaca that was terrorizing the people of London, he was warned that he had to do the work on his own. The detective inspector argued that animal control was not his division, but was soon forced to agree to the wild alpaca hunt, without the help of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock laughed and laughed as he watched live video on the news of Lestrade chancing the alpaca down the London sidewalks. One instance Sally Donovan had managed to mound the beast in an attempt to tranquilize it, but failed when she was thrown off and hit by a double-decker bus. She died. The case went on for five endless months when Lestrade finally caught the alpaca during a standoff in King's Cross Station. So they were now celebrating the fact the Lestrade finally proved he could do something on his own, overlooking that in the process a quarter of London was destroyed, dozens officers and civilians were killed, and the Queen is missing in action.

The party was really poppin! The DJ was blasting music all around the club. It seemed like everyone in the police department was there. The room was filled with dancing guests, beeping and bopping to the beat. Lestrade ordered another drink after each failed attempt to flirt with someone. Molly Hooper and Mary Watson were taking shots at the bar trying to forget the fact that the two men they loved were more infatuated with each other than them. Mrs. Hudson was snorting cocaine through hundred dollar bills in the bathroom. Everybody was having a fantastic time!

John and Sherlock drowned a few drinks and hit the dance floor. #TurnUp #TGIF #Blessed #YOLO #Ballin #WithTheBea

"Dance with me, Jawn!" Sherlock said, as he tossed his scarf around John's neck like a feather boa and sensually pulled him closer. The music was flowing through their bodies like a turd flows through the asshole of a lactose intolerant old man on laxatives who just ate a burrito with extra cheese from Taco Bell. Under the spiraling lights from the disco ball, the boys twirled, gyrated, and krumped with each other.

Sherlock had to raise his voice over Ke$ha's _We R Who We R,_ "I'm going to get us another drink." John nodded in agreement, without stopping his offbeat dancing _._

Leaning against the bar, Sherlock watched the guests dancing freely, talking, eating and drinking, and making complete fools of themselves doing things that everyone would vaguely remember in the morning. Just as Sherlock had turned around from getting John and his strawberry daiquiri martinis the music changed.

The sounds of a vitalized fiddle filled the busy room. The party goers cheered in rapture and complete liberation. Like clockwork the chaotic horde of people began organizing themselves into single file lines. Drinks, coats, purses, and all seats were left unattended as the remaining crowd swarmed to the dance floor. Sherlock had never seen such a sudden jubilation of humans, nevertheless ones who just a second ago could not even stand up straight. He gawked at the extraordinary scene.

Within a moment, the mod had structured itself. The lyrics pierced Sherlock's ears like a Swiss Army Pocketknife. All motion in the room slow around him, the neon lights and disco ball stopped spinning, and the music dimmed to a faint whisper. As Sherlock's heart was beating faster and faster his perception on reality decreased. The two martini glasses crashed to the floor. He could no longer tell what was real or what was his imagination turning the club into an old western American saloon. A distressing image overwhelmed his mind. The only thing he could still hear was an echo. The echo of a question. The question that had been asked a countless number of times, yet never answered. He heard the voice repeat over and over.

"Where did you come from? Where did you go? Where did you come from Cotton Eyed Joe?"

Suddenly Sherlock's mind snapped back into reality. The room was once again raving, but the guests were still dancing like puppets as if the music harnessed some kind of controlling power. Sherlock felt very scared and very sweaty. He plugged his ears with two napkins from the bar, so he would not be tempted by the siren's song. Becoming hysterical, he searched the room for John. He pushed his way through the dancers who were all reluctant to let him pass. He rolled his eyes when he finally spotted his friend at the front of the line leading the mad frenzy. Sherlock's large hand grasped John's shoulder and forcefully spun the doctor around.

"John! John! We have to go!" he said, shaking the man to have him realize the dire urgency of the situation.

"What? Has something happened?"John finally responded; ready to follow whatever Sherlock had to say.

"Yes. Something terrible. A long time ago." He looked John straight in the eyes with a look of total desperation. "John, we have to find the Cotton Eyed Joe."


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: A very short chapter. But Johnlock, so who really cares. I was thinking about combining this one with chapter three, that why it took me a bit longer to publish, but decided against it. Chapter 3 should be posted very shortly. It will definitely be longer. The start of the big case. As always, please comment to let me know what you want to see. I appreciate it so much! Thank You. Keep Smiling._

 **Chapter 2**

Sherlock and John stumbled out of the club without saying any goodbyes. The mission at hand was too urgent. Sherlock needed to start clueing for looks before the high from dancing left John's body. Plus everyone was too wasted to notice they were gone anyways.

Now outside, Sherlock hauled over a cad. The driver rolled down the window and Sherlock peaked his head in to give him their destination… Baker Street- Dun! Dun! Duuunnnn! Sherlock climbed into the backseat of the cab.

"Jawn! Jawn! Come on we've got to go!" he called out the car.

John, in his drunken state, managed to fall asleep on the side walk. Sherlock admired how he looked so cute curled up in a little ball, like a baby hedgehog, on the filthy London sidewalk. Sherlock reached over the front seat and honked the horn to the chorus of Mambo No. 5. "Wakey! Wakey! Murder and Swagy!," he shouted in an attempt to wake up John.

The taxi began to pull away just as John was getting up. He leaped for the car door. Sherlock grabbed him by the arm car just before he could tumble to the ground left in the dust. Using all his strength Sherlock pulled John into the moving car. John's stout body fell onto him in the back seat.

"Get off me," John huffed. His breath reeked of alcohol and shrimp kabobs.

"You're on top of me," Sherlock argued.

John looked around questioningly at their situation, like a furry little momma meerkat just popping its head out of its burrow before being snatched by a hawk and eaten, leaving its baby's without a mother, with no source of food or protection so they all die. "It seems you are correct." And then he fussed to attempt to get off Sherlock into his own seat.

"I didn't say you had get off," Sherlock said pulling John back toward him more comfortably this time.

All the excitement of the night had gotten Sherlock riled up. John gladly accepted and began devouring Sherlock without hesitation. #Thirsty #GetIt #TreatYoSelf Sherlock held John close and in muttered breathes began to spill out his ideas for the case. John tried to quiet his rambling, but Sherlock still got out his words through the kisses. Giving up on the idea of closing the man's mouth, John kissed Sherlock's neck. The alcohol allowed in him to freely moan with delight as he buried his head in the detective's neck.

Sherlock moved under John's as his mind and body fought between John and the mystery ahead. "…We'll have to leave right away… Of course, umm, it will need a bit of research first… Oh, John…" he melted into his lover again. "No- and is his name really, Joe?... So many unasked questions, John… John- Jawn, please John-"

Unable to keep their hands off each other, the two drunkenly made out the rest of the drive from the party. It all seemed to end too soon when Sherlock recognized the lights of Baker Street shinning through the cab window. John knew that their fun would have to come to an end, because Sherlock would be eager to get to work once they got inside. He kissed the man one last time then began to collect himself as best he could. The cab stopped outside the flat. John stumbled to get off Sherlock and onto the street. Sherlock lingered a second longer to tip the driver for whatever mess or uncomfortableness they brought upon him. John opened the door to the flat and lead Sherlock upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

_Authors Note: Okay, so I'm terrible and haven't posted in a really long time. I promise the next chapter will not take nearly as long to post. Anyways, I'm not sure how much more of this story I'm actually going to write. Like I have a lot of ideas, but I don't know if its worth it, because it doesn't seem to be getting any attention, even on my tumblr. So if you want me to continue please comment and share. It really helps motivate me to keep writing, otherwise I'll keep putting it off. There will definitely be at least 2 more chapters, but if everything stays the same I might just abandon this and go back to the Supernatural fic I was working on. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I believe itss the longest one so far. Thank You! and again leave a comment if you want me to continue. Keep Smiling!_

Chapter 3

The familiar smell of the flat welcomed John as he climbed the stairs. Sherlock throw his coat down and went to work. He cleared off the desk, opened his laptop, flipped through dozens of books from the shelf in just a minute. John saw the lust for answers and adventure in his every move. He knew he was in for endless nights of no sleep.

When John turned around from hanging his coat up he saw Sherlock lighting the flame of bunsen burner and setting up the rest of his chemistry equipment in the kitchen.

"You've already made a mess of the place," he said looking amongst Sherlock's coat lying on the floor, opened books, and printer spitting out pages of information Sherlock would soon analyze for clues and code.

"You made a mess of yourself when you let that song take control of you!"

"What? I did not! It's a song!" he said defensively.

Sherlock turned his attention to his partner. "You mean to tell me you danced like that out of your own free will?" John had no reply. Sherlock continued pressing for answers. "That you made a conscious decision to do that? Come on, John, you're not that big of an idiot!"

"Well," he searched for the words to explain his actions. "I guess, it's just a natural to get up and dance when you hear the song?"

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed. Now man-handling John with the same objectiveness and tenacity he did his equipment as if the man was just another source of information. "How? Why? Who taught you? Do you remember the first time you danced to it? Do you remember anyone ever teaching it to you? Of course, not! You just did- like it was programmed in your mind and body." Within the course of his speech he managed to make John a test subject. He grabbed him by the hand rolled up his sleeve and jabbed a syringe in his vein to get a sample of blood. He transferred the sample in a test tube of boiling liquid. Then, Sherlock shined a small light in John's eyes, mouth, and ears to inspect him. Then Sherlock began to strip off John's clothes for a full examination.

"No, Sher-," John protested rebuttoning his shirt, but he was cut off as Sherlock began to list off possible explanation for the night's events.

"Maybe the DJing communities have some secret version that if you play it backwards it says something brain washing like, 'Dance! Dance my children! Let the cottoned eyed demons flow through you! Let them take over your body! Dance!'" He picked up John and had him stand on his own feet, like a child with their parent learning to dance for the first time. Holding John's hand and moving his body with him, Sherlock began to do the line dance. He called out the moves. "Front! Front! Back! Back! Side! Cross front! Side! Cross Back! Step! Cross! Step! Cross! CLAP! LASSO! LASSO! LASSO!"

"Will you stop!?" John shouted, slapping Sherlock away and hopping down from his feet. "You're making a complete ass out of yourself."

Sherlock opposed John feverously wondering how he could be so harsh in such a dire time of need. He continued to scrutinize his actions, "What? But, Jawn, the music! How could it make all of you act like such idiots? I mean you- maybe. We all know you don't have the best will power. But Mary?! No, she's strong! And my Molly? I just can't believe she'd do something like that!?"

"Shut up! Sherlock!" he yelling with a furious and annoyed tone. "Just… stop… I have the answer," he began to explain calmly. "We were drunk. Everyone was completely wasted. There is your precious explanation." Sherlock was quiet letting John's words process. John sighed, "Now, can we please go to bed?"

"No, this is no time for sex," Sherlock replied immediately. He still was not satisfied. "I'm still not satisfied." John rolled his eyes and sat down again at the counter. "I was drinking just as much as you all, why didn't I dance?"

"Probably because you went to get us another drink and passed out on a bar seat. I decided it better to leave you there while I went back on the floor."

Sherlock rubbed his head as if suddenly remembering the night's events and reliving each pint of alcohol he had consumed. He was still very confused as to what really happened. "It seems that I was wrong," he admitted ashamed, "and the song has no power, but it doesn't answer the question!" John stared at him not believing he was still going on about this. "Where did the Cotton Eyed Joe come from and where did he go?"

"Sherlock! It's a song?"

Sherlock leaned in close to his friend, "Yes, but songs have meaning and origin and there is so much mystery behind this one. Don't you want to know?"

John could not believe what he was hearing. He honestly believed that the most genius and brilliant man he known had lost his mind and gone completely mental.

"…Sherlock…" was all he could manage to say.

But quick to reply the detective insisted, "John, we must!"

"Sherlock?"

"John?" he said as if asking his approval.

"Sherlock."

He moved in closer, "John."

As did he, "Sherlock"

"John."

A bit closer, "Sherlock."

"JOHN!"

"SHERLOCK!"

Now practically screaming in each other's faces, "JAWN!"

"SHERLOCK!"

"JAWN!"

Next thing they both knew they were on top of the kitchen counter making out once again. Sherlock was over John, breathing heavily into him. As if they had just gotten out of a steamy shower, the two were ready to get it on right there in the kitchen.

Then suddenly, just like John's pants zipper, the flat door burst open.

"MRS. HUDSON!" the land lady yelled, before totally face planting on the floor.


End file.
